


Initiation

by AuthorInDistress



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angel Sired Spike, Friendship, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 21:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18039218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorInDistress/pseuds/AuthorInDistress
Summary: What if instead of killing Drogon, Spike was brought for Angel's Initiation into the Black Thorn?





	Initiation

.

It was an odd feeling, to remember the steel of a knife slicing through the throat but to not have the scar still sit there. 

Rubbing his hand over where the wound should be, Wesley stared at himself in the mirror. Despite his self-nagging that knowing now what had happened would help shed light on things, Angel's behaviour was still as elusive and concerning as ever. 

He couldn't quite pinpoint when it had started but a part of him was sure that it was because of the memories. That now that he remembered what he'd done, Angel had no need to be polite for politeness' sake and could brush him off as needed. 

But no. That didn't make much sense either. Even if it were personal, Angel's lack of interest for the 'small stuff' wouldn't be a factor. 

He sighed, pushing himself from the basin and leaving the bathroom, walking through a group of paralegals that were busy gossiping together to return to his office. Spike had been gone for hours now and he wasn't sure he trusted his judgement in letting him go alone anymore - it wasn't as though they were particularly close and if he'd had it his way, it would have been a team-effort to find the demon and stop it from killing. 

For all he knew, Spike might have simply gotten bored with the search and gone home to play his video games. He pinched the bridge of his nose, glaring at nothing and at how unfair he was being. Spike had more than proved himself and even without Buffy's presence, he clearly wanted to do some good. 

He'd offered to chase the demon himself and the least Wesley could do was give him the benefit of doubt. 

"Sir?" One of his many assistants knocked on the door and he glanced up, noticing that Illyria was stood cold behind her, "I've got - "

"Let her past," Wesley told her, knowing full well what Illyria could do if she thought she was being denied something. Once inside, Illyria shut the door and crossed the room toward his desk, throwing something down for him to see. 

It was a bloody tongue, still dripping and purple. He grimaced, not quite sure what she wanted him to do with it and hoped it wasn't a gift he couldn't refuse.

"I, uh," He cleared his throat, "Thank you."

"It was a simple fight." She told him and he blinked, frowning, "I killed your demon with little effort. And yet still I am denied."

The Boretz. _Illyria_ had killed it? Was Spike off sulking that he'd not had the chance then, considering how long he'd been gone and how quickly Illyria had supposedly done his job for him. 

"Denied?" Wesley used the end of his ruler to push the tongue aside, wiping the mark that it left on his table with a spare sheet of paper, "What would we deny you?"

"The white-haired one asked for my company in this quest," She said, lifting her chin up, "But when I vanquished the demon, he was gone. I am aware he was outcasted from your horde previously but now he is an ally."

"And you … think we are denying you the same," Wesley realised, trying hard not to show his shocked amusement that this was even something she wanted.

"Why else would he leave so silently?" She demanded, "I am not to be given the courtesy."

"You told me you didn't need courtesy not one day ago." Wesley reminded her, still slightly confused.

"My mind is as complex as the embers of a fire, you cannot expect it to remain untouched." 

In other words, she'd changed her mind. She wanted to be part of the team. Considering it, Wesley nodded slowly. 

"I'll admit, it's not my decision."

She narrowed her eyes, "Angel." 

"Yes," He shifted in his seat, wishing he hadn't drunk so much today now if only to ensure he didn't say the wrong thing, "I'll - bring it to his attention."

She straightened, a gesture that Wesley was coming to recognise as her showing she was pleased, "See that you do." And with that, she was gone. 

Staring after her, Wesley ran a hand down his face, processing the bizarre turn of events as well as he could. It seemed like nowadays, anything and everything was throwing itself toward them, and they were spiralling very close toward the end. 

For now however, the immediate concern was Spike abandoning Illyria in the outside world. At the very least, he could have contacted someone to inform them about Illyria and the Boretz issue being solved. 

He supposed he'd have to have a word with Angel about this but he wasn't sure how much good that would do either. Maybe as his Sire he could order some discipline but there was still so much on Sire and Childe relationships that eluded the Council and he didn't know how volatile their current relationship was either. 

They clearly didn't get along but protected each other still. If he had the time, he'd study some more on Vampiric familial rules but for now, other subjects took priority. 

\--

Finding the Boretz demon had been easy, despite Illyria's predictions on boredom; its smell was pretty distinct and he knew it well. Her words about Angel before had been jarring however and though Spike was sure that the moron’s soul was very intact, even he could see that his behaviour lately had been weird. 

But then Angel was Angel, and Spike had stopped trying to understand him over 70 years ago. 

People changed a lot and when you lived longer than the average human, you started to get used to it. His own relationship with Angel had fluctuated throughout the years and he had memories that he was never sure of what to do with now, though most related to Angelus and not Angel. At least with Angelus, he’d been able to understand things, however.

It had been clear with him then, in their little family. Angelus had been the leader, they’d all looked to him, and though Darla had been his Sire she’d played the whimsical woman prettily enough too. He and Drucilla had been the Childes, and the four of them had had a basic group for years until Spike had decided that he’d had enough of being ordered around by a bully.

He knew that he was the one who’d broken their family first but Angelus had forced him to and now, this souled Angel, had been a stranger to him until he’d gotten his own soul and it had clicked. He still didn’t know where he stood though and he detested that, and detested that he _wanted_ to know.

Angelus was easy, he’d hated and he’d loved you, he’d hurt you and he’d kiss you, but Angel was just dismissive and uninterested. Even if it had been to bully, at least Angelus had given him the time of day.

Sighing, he followed the Boretz’s scent and Illyria trailed behind him, feigning her indifference.

“I reckon we’re close,” He let her know, slowing his steps until they were softer and quieter.

“Is this your world’s attempt at hunting?” She muttered and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s called being stealthy,” He said, “Remember how we talked about humans and their sneakiness.”

“Deceivers,” She recalled, “Like your leader.”

There she went again, with Angel betraying them and blah blah. “Like I said already, Angel is _not_ my – “

“It matters not what he is to you or to the world, he is a Leader in his right,” She cut him off, “He protects this world but now he has set his sights higher. Perhaps that it is why he tolerates my presence still,” She tilted her head up, “He seeks inspiration.”

Spike snorted, “From you?” He shook his head, “Illyria, love, if you think Angel’s tolerance is because he wants you around, you need to check yourself.” She turned to stare at him, “I mean, he’s tolerant of me. What does that tell you?”

She narrowed her eyes, “There is a history with you.”

“Well, yeah,” He shrugged, “But that doesn’t mean – ” The back of his neck tingled and he lunged out of the way, the Boretz narrowly missing him.

While he recovered, Illyria jumped at the opportunity to kill something without Wesley crying about it. She threw it into a wall, waiting until it climbed back up to hit it again. Spike let her have at it, watching her toy with the demon to make the fight last longer, knowing she needed it.

He pat his pockets for a cigarette, stepping back between the skips when the fight neared him and Illyria danced as she fought, swinging a high kick to slam into the demon’s face. Spike winced with sympathy, having had that move used on him before but then his wince heightened until he realised it was instinct. He straightened, his eyes darting around to see what his senses had spotted, when something sharp was stabbed through his neck from behind.

He whirled around in shock, putting a hand to the wound and staring as the hooded figure that now grasped his shoulders held him in place until he slumped back. Whatever he had been injected with worked fast and he felt his knees buckle, his head swimming, and he immediately thought of Dana and his hands but she was gone and he didn’t have the right to feel traumatised by what she’d done.

Not after all he’d done himself in the past.

He felt himself lifted and carried, his consciousness wavering to the sounds of Illyria slamming her fist into the Boretz’s face and ripping out its tongue and then he was out to the world.

When he woke, his eyes stung so he shut them again, wincing from some new aches that covered his body. Without moving much, he felt binds over his wrists and though his legs were free, they may as well have been made of lead for all he could move them as well. He was lying on something hard and cold and his clothes had been stripped and when his memory returned he tried to listen out for his attacker.

There was the smell of ash in the air, the sound of fire, and when something hot dripped down his stomach he inwardly cursed his luck. He knew a ritual when he experienced one and he was tired of being everyone's bleeding blood monkey. 

Trying to kick out, he grunted, feeling the liquid on his chest slide off and pool by his hips. It dried quickly and clumped, letting him know that it was wax, and he was hit hard across the face for disturbing it. 

He opened his eyes, squinting through the pain, and saw more hooded and masked figures surrounding him. One had two fingers dipped in red wax and when Spike remained still, they traced a pattern over his chest with it once again. 

He didn't recognise any of the symbols or words being marked out but getting hit in the head so soon after blacking out wouldn't help him, so he kept still and tried to take everything else in as much as he could instead. His limbs and eyes felt heavy however, and the fatigue was concerning to a level that he knew was connected to whatever he'd been injected by before.

God he hated drugs.

He ran through scenarios in his mind, the last time he’d been used like this having been for the First, but that was long over now and there were always other cults hanging around. He swallowed past a dry throat, the wax hot on his chest, and when he glanced back up at the one marking him he glared at the mask.

It was white, almost Venetian with its spirals and large eyes, and it hid the face behind it enough that he couldn’t even see if it was human or not. He stiffened when fingers trailed below his stomach but they were gone in a second and the figure stepped away to join the others in a circle, all of them patiently waiting for – well, whatever he was here for.

"What is it then?" He slurred, his patience not quite as strong as theirs, and the tingling in his legs let him know that some of his awareness was returning too, "If you're looking for a virgin, I hate to burst your – bubble but I'm not exactly ... " He trailed off when he spotted the fire, blazing a few feet from him.

He'd seen fire like that before, in the hell dimension that they'd sprung tattoo-boy from. It was a gateway, an entrance to another dimension, which meant that this cult was Senior Partner approved.

He stiffened, twisting his wrists in their binds and hiding his fear as well as he could, though if any of these hooded gits could smell like him then they were probably already aware of it, and that pissed him off enough to try even harder to escape.

"Come on," He yanked down, shifting his face to try and bite at them but he couldn’t reach, and he didn’t have the strength to keep it up. He slumped, feeling woozy, and his face shifted back from exhaustion. Whatever they’d drugged him with was as effective as Dana’s stuff had been. Maybe they’d been inspired.

He growled, trying to muster another attempt out, “You fucking – what did you do to m – ?”

The fire suddenly grew and he recoiled from the heat, flinching when a dark figure dived through it and into the room, snapping his head toward it to see who or what they'd all been waiting for.

He froze, squinting, "… _Angel?"_

Standing hunched over, Angel straightened and stared at him for a moment before visibly swiping all emotion away. He then barely wasted a second in taking in the scene and stepping toward Spike to stand in between his legs. Spike stared up at him, frowning.

Was this some sort of test? Was Angel rescuing him? Why was he so _calm?_ Did he know something about this?

He clenched his hands into fists, his head spinning, and something in him ran cold when Angel grabbed his thighs. The slab that he was lying on ended by his knees but there was evidently enough give in the binds for Angel to pull him closer and practically off of it.

He slid down, half his body in the air now, and he blinked himself into focus, "Angel – what?"

Not minding his audience, Angel began to undress, throwing his clothes to the floor, and maybe it was the dark shadows over his eyes or the slow, almost predatory stripping, but something in Spike clicked and he pushed himself back. He had nothing to grip however and the binds refused to stress but then when Angel unwrapped them and freed his hands anyway, his brain came up short in ways to fight.

For days he'd been so completely sure that Angel had his soul and yet now, he felt that he was looking at Angelus. The Angelus that he'd first met, so many years ago, who had moulded him from a fledging to a killer. The one he’d claimed was easier to understand but who he’d not exactly wanted to be meeting anytime soon either.

"What are you _doing - ?"_ He tried to roll away and Angel used that, turning him over to his stomach and grasping his hips to pull him back, pressing their naked skin together, "No. No, stop - "

He felt Angel shift above his neck, his skin chilling at the sound, and then his neck was bitten and he gasped into the rock beneath him. Angel didn't drink, he simply bit over the aged and faded Sire's mark that he'd first given him, pushing into him with his teeth until eventually Spike cried out. His senses heightened and he felt every part of Angel’s body over his, his sweat, his scent, the fact that he was getting hard from the power his bite was getting.

More aches became apparent then, his body alive and flushed with pain and yet also sluggish and numb from his Sire's bite, and he tried to press his thighs together - a memory from years ago reminding him of how this felt but it bled into the present when he noticed something else.

They'd touched him, he realised. When he'd been unconscious. They'd _prepared_ him for this.

He snapped his head back, pushing Angel off for only a moment before he collapsed under his weight, struggling hard against him. Their audience was still as they watched but Angel didn’t speak nor order him down, he just put a hand to the back of his neck and held him there instead.

He squeezed his eyes shut, writhing like a fish out of water, whining when he felt Angel hold himself steady and start to push in.

_“No – “_

He wasn’t gentle and he wasn’t slow. He took like he had a deadline to meet and there was nothing pleasurable about it, from either end. He heard Angel grunt above him, the hand over his neck keeping him down, and he trembled beneath him.

This wasn't sex, this was a ritual as he'd first suspected, but he didn't know what it was for and he didn't know why it had to mean this. He'd never wanted to feel this again and especially not now, not with his soul back, when emotions were so much stronger than before.

He'd almost forgotten about the others in the room until one of them shifted, and he stared at them, his body rocking with Angel's thrusts, and the humiliation began to burn. He didn't know who they were, he couldn't see their faces, but they could see this all. They could see what was happening to him, they'd _orchestrated_ it, and it was that that made his eyes warm.

He turned his head aside, pressing his forehead to the slab to hide his tears, and Angel's grip on him turned bruising when he finally finished.

He panted over him, sweat dripping down over Spike’s back, and then climbed off of him and stepped around, collecting his clothes and casually redressing. For a moment that was all there was, the shock, and then Spike curled his legs in to hide it, wondering if now he’d be staked or god forbid, passed around.

Nothing else happened however, but when he tried to push himself up, weak and shaky, his neck was grasped from behind and something pricked into it for a second time.

Angel caught him as he fell this time, stopping him from smacking face-first into the slab that he was lying on, and the last thing he felt was a kiss being pressed to his forehead.

His stomach rolled at the sensation and then he was gone to the world.

.

_“Welcome to the Circle, Angel.”_

.

Working at Wolfram and Hart was something of a trap at times – there were so many here that would want them dead and would do anything to try, that making friends was out of the question. The Senior Partners obviously didn't but there were also methods of getting them out of their approval too, which was why it was just safer to be untrusting. Usually, that would mean ignoring rumours and hinted suggestions, but occasionally he'd receive a text from numbers that he didn't recognise and was now in the habit of simply ignoring them.

This time however, the message was both intriguing and worrying, and he immediately left his office to check on Gunn. He knocked and entered to see him sat behind a large pile of folders and frowned, confused.

"What's up?" Gunn asked him, slapping a folder down onto what was presumably his 'finished' pile.

"Hm?" Wesley glanced back up at him, still frowning, "Oh. Nothing, I just - there was an odd text and I thought ... " He shook his head, crossing the room to show Gunn his phone.

"We have something of yours." He read it aloud, frowning himself, "Angel?"

"I've not seen him," Wesley admitted, now a little worried, only to startle when his phone vibrated with another message, "Collection address." He scrolled down and took a pen from Gunn's desk, scribbling it on the nearest bit of paper that he could find.

Gunn glanced at it, curious, and without asking followed him out of the building. Both usually armed, they took their weapons out upon arrival only to pause when there was only the one lone figure standing in the street. The buildings around them were mostly empty, construction sites and abandoned, which would usually mean an ambush but then the figure noticed their arrival and stepped aside to reveal Spike's body.

They faltered, staring, and in their surprise the figure left.

“Hey!” Gunn made an aborted attempt to go after them but he was as shocked as Wesley at what the message had meant.

Spike was unconscious as far as he could see, naked and bleeding, and had clearly been left for them to get as the shadow he'd been dumped in wouldn't be around forever and sunlight would hit it soon. Gunn moved first, shedding his jacket and wrapping it around Spike as much as he could before lifting him into his arms and looking to Wesley for guidance.

He processed what he was seeing and what might have happened, and thought through all scenarios to judge what he should do. Spike would never forgive them if they waltzed back into public with him like this and he didn't trust that Wolfram and Hart hadn't had a part in this anyway, so for now the first step was to find somewhere private and clean.

"My apartment is closest." He said, leading them back to the car that they'd taken to get here. He drove them back whilst Gunn held Spike to his chest and then they hurried him inside, laying him on the bed when all the curtains were shut.

Gunn left to get the first-aid, rummaging around in the kitchen, whilst Wesley gently placed a towel beneath Spike’s rear and pulled the blanket up over him afterward.

“Here.” Gunn was back with the box and once he handed it over he stopped, his task now done and uncertainty back again, “Do we know what did this?”

“No,” Wesley sat on the chair beside the bed, “I sent him after a Boretz demon this morning and he didn’t come back. I didn’t assume him missing.”

“Boretz do this then?” Gunn asked, “They’re not known for it.”

“No.” Sighing, Wesley leant back, “Illyria was with him.” He ran a hand down his face, “She … it was odd. She wanted to be seen as part of the team. She said – Spike had been outcasted before and she assumed the same treatment could be used on her.”

“So, what,” Gunn frowned, “She figured if she gets rid of the competition she’s got a way in?”

“I don’t know. She seemed angry that Spike had ‘left’ her behind.”

Gunn’s frown deepened and he dropped the subject, folding his arms across his chest, “Well whatever happened, we need to tell Angel.”

“Yes,” Wesley stood, putting the first aid back in Gunn’s hands, “And one of the medical staff. Someone we trust. I don’t think first aid is enough here.”

“Why?” Gunn glanced down at Spike, “I mean beaten and bloody we can – “ He seemed to visibly remember how they’d found Spike and paused, “You think – ?”

“I don’t know,” Wesley yanked his coat back on, “It’s a possibility.” He grabbed his keys, “Stay here, keep him company. I’ll be back soon.”

“Hang on,” Gunn stopped him but he started to leave anyway, ignoring what he assumed was a protest at being left behind, “Wes, hold up okay?” He paused, turning back to see Gunn holding the corner of the blanket aside a little to point at Spike’s shoulder, “That’s a bite. Isn’t it?”

Stepping back around, Wesley turned Spike’s head aside slightly and looked down at the where Gunn indicated. The blood had congealed and darkened over it and he’d assumed it had simply been a wound from a fight but now that he looked closer he saw the circle of teeth marks over it.

“I’ve seen this before,” He murmured, leaving the room to grab one of his personal books from the old Council stash he still had. He flipped through the pages until he found the image he remembered, “A Sire’s bite.” He said, putting the book down for Gunn to see as well, “It’s rare to see it fresh, most are healed by the time the vampire rises from the dead and they fade throughout their life.”

“Spike’s already a vampire,” Gunn said, “Someone trying to Sire him again is a strike against Angel, isn’t it? I mean, in Vampire-law.”

“I’m not sure,” Wesley murmured, “There’s still so much on Vampire-law that’s secret. Angel is the only one I could possibly ask but he’s never been particularly receptive about it either. Even with – ” He caught himself before he mentioned Connor, despite the boy being human anyway. He looked up at Gunn, “Didn’t Wolfram and Hart instil you with their knowledge on this?”

“Must not be as much as they brag,” Gunn said, “I’ve got tonnes of laws but there’s not much on this except, Sire marks are usually on the neck?”

“Well this is the neck,” Wesley said, “Just not the jugular, but there are times when a vampire will bite elsewhere when they can’t reach it. A Sire’s bite isn’t an exception.”

“So Spike’s old bite could be anywhere? Angel’s one on him, I mean?”

“Presumably.” Wesley nodded, “Though it will very likely be around his neck and very faded by now.”

“But if you knew to look for it, you’d see it.” Gunn clarified and Wesley frowned, looking up at him to see him analysing Spike’s neck, “Because I don’t see anything here. Not even a pimple to mark the spot.”

“The new bite must cover it.”

“Then this is definitely a strike against Angel,” Gunn concluded, “Someone’s trying to Out-Sire him, get Spike on their side.” His hand brushed over the mark and Spike suddenly bucked over the bed, still unconscious but he hissed behind his teeth, “Woah.”

“Careful. It must be sensitive.” Wesley put a hand over Spike’s unmarked shoulder and pressed him back down, “It doesn’t look like it was done gently.”

“Is it ever?” Gunn scoffed.

“Well … yes. To gain trust on the human they’re siring, the vampire has to ensure it only hurts for a moment.” He grimaced at the blood on his pillows, “Obviously not everyone feels the same.”

“Or they knew Spike wouldn’t trust them anyway.”

Standing, Wesley put the book back and scowled, “I’ll let Angel know what’s happening, try to shed some light on this.”

Gunn watched him, not protesting this time, and he caught the spare key Wesley tossed at him as he left.

He drove back to the Office barely under the speed limit and wondered why exactly he was so panicked. Yes, it was possible someone was trying to rankle Angel, but it wasn’t a matter of life-or-death. And yet, Spike’s vulnerable form lying on the ground burned in his memory and he tightened his hands on the wheel.

He knocked on Angel’s door once when he arrived and didn’t wait for an answer, still in the throes of urgency, only to almost slam into the man’s chest.

“Angel.” He caught himself, “I need to talk to you.”

“I was just about to send out a search party.” Angel drawled, raising an eyebrow and shutting the door, “Your assistant told me you just upped and left for over an hour without telling anyone where you went.”

“I – yes. Something came up.” Wesley stepped around him, calming himself down as Angel sat back behind his desk, “Spike.”

Angel scowled, “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing.” Wesley clarified, “Something has happened _to_ Spike.” Angel indicated that he continue and he summarised what had happened, telling him about the message, the hooded figure, and then the Sire’s mark.

“Gunn and I have a theory that someone is trying to turn Spike against you, possibly by re-siring him, though I’m not sure it’s possible – ”

“It’s not.” Angel said, “You can’t re-sire someone. You can only reinstate a bond that’s broken or lost, reconnect it.”

“Oh, then – ” Wesley faltered, “Reinstate?”

Angel nodded, impassive and cold, “If a Childe isn’t obedient or causes trouble for their Sire, a bond can be reinstated,” He explained, “It reminds them that they’re under their rule, keeps personalities in check.”

“Personalities.” Wesley repeated, a sickening realisation slowly dawning just as Angel’s past behaviour returned as well. “This … reinstation. Can it only be done by the original Sire?”

“Of course.” Angel shrugged, “There has to have been a bond already there.”

“I see.” Wesley took a slow step forward, “And would anything else be required for the process?”

“Like what?”

Wesley narrowed his eyes. “Pain.”

Angel sighed, leaning toward him, “Wes. What exactly are you asking me?”

“I’m asking if you took advantage while you _reinstated_ your bond.”

Angel laughed softly, “Everything’s an advantage when you’re a Sire. I thought it was time Spike remembered that.”

Wesley sucked in a breath between his clenched teeth, Angel’s tone and what he was saying hitting something hollow in him. “That sounds like something Angelus would say.” He said.

“If I were Angelus, you’d be dead.”

Wesley opened his mouth to argue that but the doors opened before he could and Hamilton walked in.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know you were in conference.” He said, smugly polite in a way only he could be.

Angel shook his head. “We’re not. Wesley was just leaving.”

Giving him a long look, Wesley turned on his heel and brushed past Hamilton on his way out. He made a detour to his office and grabbed an Archive book before leaving the building once again.

Gunn was making himself a coffee when he stepped back into his apartment and Spike was still asleep in bed. His ire at Angel increased when he saw him and he realised he’d forgotten to get a medic.

“Hey,” Gunn approached him, wary, “You okay? How’d Angel take the – ”

“Give me a moment.” Wesley cut him off, taking his phone out and calling his assistant. Now that he knew Angel had done this, there was no need for so much mistrust, and he asked for whichever medic was available to come to his address. Before he could give it however, he changed his mind and hung up.

“Wes,” Gunn tried to meet his gaze, “You’ve got that dark look thing going on.”

“We were right.” Wesley told him, “It was over his Sire’s bite but it wasn’t another vampire. Apparently you can’t be sired twice and you can only have one bond.”

“Well the only bond Spike has is with Angel.” Gunn reminded him and Wesley slowly lifted his eyes to glare into his. Gunn understood immediately, “You think _Angel_ did this to him. Why? I mean, I know Spike can piss him off but – ”

“It wasn’t about that.”

“Look Wesley, I know he’s been acting funny these days but he’s not – Spike’s on our _team_ , he wouldn’t – ”

“He already confirmed it, Charles,” Wesley told him, “Confirmed both.”

Gunn stopped, “Both?” Looking at him again, Wesley spoke with his eyes, and Gunn scoffed, “No. Guy I know wouldn’t do that.”

“Angelus was known for it.” Wesley said, “Most of his victims were – ”

“He’s not Angelus now, though.”

“Charles. He _admitted_ to it.” Wesley emphasised what was happening, “Angelus or not, he did this.” He lifted the book he’d brought with him, “And I’m going to find out why.”

He put it aside at first however and asked Gunn to go to the butchers to buy some blood. Whilst he was gone, he made quick work of cleaning Spike up. His potion making wasn’t as adequate as others but he knew how to get by and his specialty was usually in healing. He grimaced at the evidence of what Angel had done and wiped the blood and mess away, sighing.

He put salve where he could and covered the bite mark with a bandage, dressing Spike in some of his own clothes just as Gunn walked back in.

“He’s been drugged.” He told him, once he was done, “I noticed two prick marks on his neck. It may be why he’s been unconscious for so long.”

“That doesn’t fit with Angel.” Gunn said, “Why would he need to drug Spike to keep him down?” He paused and looked disgusted at his choice of words.

“Spike did beat him to the Champion’s chalice.” Wesley reminded him, “Could be Angel didn’t want to take any chances.”

“I still don’t get this.” Gunn said and Wesley took his cue to pick the book back up and whisper ‘Vampiric Law’ into its cover.

“Then let’s get some answers.”

He read through the information whilst Gunn hovered over his shoulder, wondering aloud whether they should bring in others to their concerns. He made a point of excluding what they suspected when he called Lorne a moment later, however.

“Here.” Wesley held the pages open, “The reinstation of a bond. Used by Sires of old to control unruly Childer and hold family lines in place. Once used, the Childe is a fledging once again for a period of time and under the influence of their Sire.”

“What does that mean?” Gunn asked but he wasn’t answered by Wesley.

“Means he can order and I do.” They both turned to the bed to see Spike heaving himself up, leaning against the headboard and closing his eyes for a moment, “So to speak anyway.”

Wesley slowly shut the book, knowing that it would open where he’d left it, and put it down, “How are you feeling?” He asked.

Spike shrugged, pointedly avoiding their faces and looking down at the blanket instead, “Where are we?”

“My apartment.” Sitting on the chair beside the bed, Wesley eased himself down like Spike were a wild animal on the brink of attack. He knew better than to push him about what had happened and tried to get answers instead, “You said – Angel can order you?”

Spike put a hand to the bandage on his neck, “No one ever does it. Making a new bond,” He said, “Most Sires leave their Childer behind anyway, not everyone’s into family groups and stuff. It’s old-fashioned. And not exactly the done thing.”

“Has Angel ever - ?”

“No.” Spike answered before he finished, “He’s never been particularly invested in being my Sire, not for years. I don’t – it wasn’t even just _him.”_

“What do you mean?”

“There were others there. A group of ‘em.” He frowned, pushing himself to his feet, only to crumble and have to let Wesley catch him. Unasked, Gunn left to warm the blood he’d bought, to help the healing process along, “Fuck.”

“You need to stay down, you’re not – “

“I’m fine.” Spike snapped, shaking his grip off and sitting back over the bed, “Just dizzy. Bastards drugged me.”

Wesley nodded slowly, “Do you know what by?” Spike shook his head, “Did it burn?” He shook his head again and sniffed. At the sound, Wesley eased himself forward, placing a hand beside Spike’s thigh to try and get his attention, “Spike – I’m sorry.”

Spike reared his head up in outrage, clearly not wanting to talk about this, “I’m n – ”

“Illyria told me you left her,” Wesley continued over him, “I assumed she’d beaten you to a kill and gotten you annoyed. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be so unreliable.”

Spike’s anger left him like a breeze leaving an open sail and he slumped back, “Not given you much reason to think otherwise, have I.”

“That’s not true.” Wesley argued, knowing now that it really wasn’t, “I’ve been unfair. And I apologise for it. And,” He sighed, “I know you don’t wish to talk about this, but – ”

“I don’t.”

“But I need to know how hurt you are.” Wesley held his gaze now, firm, and after a moment Spike turned away.

“I’ve been through it before.” He said, “Give me a couple of hours, some blood, and I’ll be fine.”

His tone left no room for argument but Wesley had to wonder on the mental aftereffects of this. If it was true, and Angelus had done this to him before, then it could explain some of Spike’s volatile behaviour. And now for it to have been Angel –

“Blood in a mug.” Gunn announced, handing said mug over to Spike and pulling another seat over to sit down himself, “Enjoy.”

Spike gave him a weak smile, drinking the blood down in a few gulps only to wince when his shirt caught the bandage and jostled his mark. He dropped the mug but Gunn’s reflexes caught it before it could smash.

“God.” He gasped, gripping his shoulder as though he wanted to tear it off.

“Spike – ”

“I’m fine.” He spoke over him, still refusing any comfort and continuing his story like he’d never stopped, “I think it was a ritual.” He said, “The group that was there, they watched. They put me there too, Angel came in after.”

“Did you see any faces?”

“No they had masks.” He released his shoulder, gritting his teeth, “It’s normally taboo. To re-sire. Frowned upon, you know?” He looked at them both, though they clearly had no idea, “When I was first turned, Angelus told me that nothing was ever mine. Nothing belonged anymore. And I found out that that was for every vampire, a law for us. So re-siring goes against it.”

“Because it ensures the Childe remains their Sire’s?”

“Kind of, yeah.” Spike nodded with a sigh, “... Darla, she – we had this fight once. She’d stolen from Angelus for her Master and she knew I knew. She threatened it to me then.”

“To have Angelus _re-sire_ you?” Wesley checked.

“Why? What would that do?” Gunn frowned, putting the mug down on the floor.

“Secrets are kept secret when you’re under the influence,” Spike explained, “If Angelus didn’t want me doing something, he could order me as a fledging. But that had been years after I’d turned and I would never have listened. She knew that, so she’d threatened it.”

“So if Angel didn’t want you blabbing something – ”

“Well I don’t know anything _to_ blab,” Spike stopped his assumption, “Even if it is why he did it, there’s nothing I could say.”

The door suddenly burst open and both humans jumped out of their seats, staring at the wounded figure that stood there. Spike frowned, staring at it with both recognition and confusion.

“It’s not what you would say,” The man gasped, “More what you’d find if you went looking.”

.

Drogon’s sudden appearance and subsequent story saved them from having to declare their mistrust in Angel because of what he’d done to Spike. Lorne was disbelieving however and looking for explanations but both Wesley and Gunn knew better now and all this did was confirm their suspicions.

Angel was up to something.

Their intervention with him cemented that further until they’d brought Lindsey in for more information and had then learnt that this had all been a ruse.

Angel had acted this way and done what he’d done to get into the group yes, but not for the reasons they’d been made to believe. He’d told them the lies they’d heard and fed them just enough to convince the Thorn that they didn’t trust him.

Reinstating a bond with an ensouled Childe that worked for the good-side had been his Initiation, though he’d been vague as to how he’d done so, despite knowing three of them knew it anyway. His announcement explained a lot and it ended with them vowing to kill the group, even if it led to their own deaths.

The glamour had then vanished after a moment and they’d been thrown out when Hamilton had arrived, with Angel ‘ominously’ declaring that he needed to talk to Spike afterward about his ‘behaviour’ – something clearly said for Hamilton’s benefit – but Wesley didn’t miss the slight flinch that the words gave the younger vampire.

The slightly bitter feeling that that gave him stayed for most of the day until come midnight, he decided to talk to Angel in private. He knocked and was told to come in with Angel seeing the look on his face and standing.

“Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow,” He snapped, acting for the ‘cameras’, “I’m on my way out to a bar.” He stormed past when Wesley didn’t move and around ten minutes later, he packed his things to head for home and took a long detour to Lorne’s club.

Angel was in a booth waiting for him, when he arrived.

“Hey,” He greeted, his voice low, “I’d have ordered you a drink but you smell like you’ve had enough already.”

“Probably.” Wesley sighed, sitting down opposite him. As soon as he did, a second glamour surrounded them and the music and general hub-bub of the bar was muffled. He glanced around and noticed that no one had glanced at them at all, “Do we now look like demons to the outside world?”

“The glamour takes us out of time,” Angel shook his head, “If anyone looks, they’ll see the wall and nothing else.”

Wesley nodded, leaning back slightly and trying to think of how best to start this conversation but in the end, he didn’t need to. Angel did it for him.

He took a long sip of what looked like bourbon and stared down at his reflection in the table, “He forgave me.” He said softly, almost monotone.

There was a long and pregnant pause between them. It felt like hours really, though it was likely only a few minutes.

“Of course he did,” Wesley found himself saying, “You did it to ‘save the world’. You did all this to convince an evil group that you should join them and it worked. Why wouldn’t he forgive you.”

“Yeah.” Angel scoffed but Wesley wasn’t finished.

“But I want you to know.” He continued and Angel looked up at him, “That I don’t think he should have.”

There was another pause and Angel sipped at his bourbon.

“Neither do I.” He eventually said, “I never wanted to – and with a soul, I’d never. Not again. They must have known that so I had to prove to them that I could – ” He rubbed an eye with his index finger, sighing, “I didn’t know what the Initiation would be. When I went through that fire and saw him lying there I – but I had to.”  

“I know.” Wesley took the glass from him, downing the whiskey himself, “But that doesn’t help Spike.”

“No.”

“To him, you’ll be a rapist until we die fighting the Thorn. And if he survives, longer than that. He’s hiding it but this has affected him. Deeply.”

“Wes.” Angel cut him off, “Why do you think I’m sitting here drinking whiskey?” He glanced at his now empty glass, “Or trying to, anyway.”

“I know that you know.” Wesley told him, “I just thought you should hear it said aloud. Because Spike isn’t likely to tell you himself.”

In his minds eye, he remembered how Gunn and he had found him lying unconscious and he struggled to calm down, still speaking.

“You raped him, Angel. _”_ He bit the inside of his cheek, pausing, “And now he’s been told that you did it just for an Initiation. I don’t doubt that he’s hurt and I think you should remind yourself of that every time you might waver from the good-fight. Remind yourself that you raped your Childe to win.”

With that, he stood to leave and Angel watched him for a moment before speaking up once again, “Look out for him, will you.” He said, “If I don’t make it. Take care of him for me.”

“We’ll make it Angel.” Wesley promised, “But I’ll do that regardless. For him.”

Angel smiled slightly, nodding, “I’ll hold you to it.” He said, releasing the glamour and ordering another whiskey as Wesley left him to it, “You’d do a better job than me anyway.”

.

Spike was in a vest and shorts when he knocked on his door, looking rumpled and tired but he let him in and offered a beer.

“Were you asleep?” Wesley asked, sitting down on the sofa.

“Office hours.” Spike said, putting the kettle on, “Messed with my body-clock.” He yawned behind a hand and leant against the counter, “You went to see him then.”

Wesley looked at him, “Who?”

“Angel.” Spike gave him a look, “I can smell him on you. And the whiskey.” The kettle popped off and he poured it into a mug, “You drink too much Percy.”

“So I’ve been told.” He watched as Spike made a second cup and accepted it with a smile.

“How drunk was he?”

“Not drunk enough.”

Spike frowned, sitting down, “What?” He sipped at his tea, “I didn’t think you’d approve of him getting shitfaced before fighting an evil cabal. That’s more my thing.”

Wesley paused, realising that he’d been misunderstood. “I meant that he should be feeling more remorse.” He said, “For what he did to you.”

Spike lowered his mug, “Oh.” They sat in silence for a moment and Wesley began to regret doing this. He should have given it more time but with their plan to kill the Thorn so soon, he wasn’t sure if they’d have any, “I would have thought you’d be all – I don’t know. How did we use to say it? That it was my ‘just desserts’?”

Wesley put his own mug down, “Perhaps,” He admitted, “If you didn’t have a soul. For all the things I read about you doing, perhaps I would have once thought that. But _you_ didn’t do that to those people. Just as Angelus and Angel are different people, William the Bloody is not you. And I would never think _you_ deserved this.”

“Most people say no-one deserves it.” Spike raised an eyebrow, “Whatever they’ve done.”

Wesley smiled dryly, “I’ve also been told I’m very cynical.” He said, “There are times when I think I should be punished for things I’ve done. Even if I did them with the best intentions.”

“Like what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” He shook his head, “I just wanted to come here to make sure you were alright. And to tell you that if you need to talk or – anything at all. I’m here.”

Spike stared at him, openly. “I’m fine.” He said, “But thanks.” He sipped at his tea again and stood. Wesley took that as he cue to leave and left his mug behind. Before he opened the door, Spike spoke, “I get it, you know. Why he did it and why he had to. He can be a right git when he wants to but he’s not a rapist. _Angelus_ was a rapist. Angel just – they would have killed us both. Least this way we win something.”

Wesley met his gaze, “That doesn’t help, though. Does it.” He folded his arms across his chest, “I saw the look on your face when he asked to talk to you. I saw your wounds. It’s alright to be angry about it Spike.”

“I am angry.” Spike said, “Just not at Angel.”

“Spike – ”

“The Thorn knew what he’d need to do. They made sure he’d do it by getting me there and doing half his work for him. It’ll probably make me skittish yeah but I’m not going to spend my last few days _crying_ about how my Sire only gives me the time of day when he can use it his advantage.”

Wesley blinked, tilting his head slightly and Spike turned away to pour the rest of his tea into the sink. “Like I said,” He continued, “I get it. I’m collateral. And it’s fine. Long as it gets the job done.”

“Collateral.” Wesley repeated, walking toward him slowly, “Spike. Regardless of what I think about Angel right now, it is beyond clear that he cares about you.”

“I said I don’t care.”

“He even asked me to look out for you.” He spoke over him, “Said he’d never done a good job of it himself and he clearly regrets that.” Spike turned to look at him, “I don’t like what he did to you, Spike. I hate it. And I know Gunn does too. I want to blame him but I can’t because like all of us, he did something awful for the greater good. But none of that means that you are nothing to him. Or to us.”

Spike stared at him, chewing on his bottom lip, and he looked completely unsure of what to say. Wesley acted for him and closed the distance to pull Spike’s head to his shoulder, holding him. He felt him sag and grow limp, shaking slightly.

“Never had friends before.” He mumbled into Wesley’s shirt, “Even as a human. Just been tolerated.”

“Neither have I, really.” Wesley admitted, “Until I joined Angel’s group.”

Spike pulled away, wiping at his eyes quickly and taking in a deep (unnecessary) breath to calm himself down. He cleared his throat, “Angel asked you to look out for me, huh?” He asked, “He does remember that I’m almost 100 years older than you, right?”

Wesley smiled, “Well unfortunately you don’t act it so I’ve been made responsible for you.”

“So what. Does that make me Ron?” Wesley looked at him, “Cause you’re Percy? Big brother? Looking out for – ?” He made a face, “Does no one in Angel’s gang have any fun?”

.


End file.
